Chapter 2 Iris
IRIS
I’ve never been a day drinker, but today seems like the perfect time to start.
When I push into Marco’s, a bar in Brooklyn Heights, I’m relieved to see the lunch crowd is thinning. Ideally, I’d like the entire bar to myself, so I can drown my sorrows in gin and cupcakes, alone.
After the phone call with my father, I stopped in at my favorite bakery to grab a box of their cupcakes. It was money I shouldn’t have spent—money I didn’t have—but I couldn’t stop myself. It’s the only thing that could make this awful day any better.
I meant to head straight home to Queens, but I was too busy sobbing into my cupcakes and accidentally got on the wrong train, ending up in Brooklyn Heights.
By the time I realized and exited at Clark Street, I didn’t have the energy to get back on the train.
Instead, I stumbled into the nearest bar clutching the cupcakes, needing a gin and tonic more than ever.
A spot opens at the bar, and I slump onto a stool with a weighted sigh, dumping the box onto the bar in front of me. Waving the bartender over, I order a drink, then pop open the top of the box, selecting another cupcake.
I’ve already had two.
The sugar melts on my tongue as I stuff half of it into my mouth, chewing dejectedly, casting my eyes over the rest of my baked treats. These are good cupcakes—the best in the city, in my opinion—but they’re not working their usual magic. Nothing can fix the mess I’ve made of my life.
The bartender deposits my drink in front of me as I polish off my cupcake, and I give her a strained smile, taking a long pull of gin, trying to summon the relief I felt earlier.
How could I have let it get so bad? I should have checked my grades at the end of last semester.
At least then I would’ve had time to turn things around.
But no, I did what I always do and ignored the situation, hoping it would improve on its own, until it eventually blew up in my face.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part starts tomorrow, at 8 a.m.
Ugh, I don’t want to think about any of it.
I snatch another cupcake and shove it into my mouth, scowling. How do I always manage to fuck up my life so badly?
“Rough day?”
I turn to my right. My gaze meets the steel-gray eyes of an attractive older man, wiping his hands on a napkin as he pushes his empty plate away.
I snort through a mouthful of cupcake, swallowing. I can feel a glob of frosting on my chin.
“What gave me away?” I mutter, grabbing a cocktail napkin off the bar.
The corner of his mouth hooks into an amused smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so miserable while eating a cupcake.”
I sigh. He’s not wrong. I am miserable.
“And you have a little…”
He motions under his eyes, and I freeze in horror. I whip my phone out to check, and he’s right—I have mascara tracks down my cheeks. That will be from my crying jag on the train.
Jesus, I’m a mess.
“Shit,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Where’s the restroom?”
He gestures over his shoulder, and I slide from my barstool in shame. I turn, then point to the cupcakes still sitting on the bar.
“Could you babysit these for a moment?”
Mirth flickers in his eyes as he reaches for his glass of beer, nodding. I mumble a quick thank you and slink off to the restroom, where I splash water on my face, doing my best to clean myself up. My life might be falling apart, but I’m still in public, for Christ’s sake.
Pull yourself together, Iris.
Smoothing my hair and doing my best to pin on a smile, I head back to the bar. The guy is still there, finishing his drink, and he smiles kindly when I return.
“Better?” I ask, motioning to my face, and he nods.
“Much better.” He sets down his empty glass and seems to hesitate, as if considering something, then gestures to the bartender, ordering another. “And another for her, whatever she’s drinking.”
My mouth pops open in surprise. “Thank you,” I murmur, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. How sweet. A tiny light of goodness on this shitty, shitty day.
Plus, a free drink is a free drink. When you’re in the kind of dire financial straits I am, you’ll take what you can get.
“Would you like one?” I ask, opening the box of cupcakes and sliding it along the bar to him. He eyes me for a moment, then drops his gaze to the box.
“Sure. Thanks.”
The bartender sets our drinks down, and I take a long sip, watching the stranger beside me bite into the red velvet cupcake he’s chosen.
He’s handsome, with chestnut-brown hair shaved close on the sides, left longer on top in thick waves styled with hair product, his jaw filled with a short beard in a lighter shade.
He’s in a charcoal-gray suit, his tie loosened a little around his neck, silver watch glinting on his wrist as he lifts the cupcake to his lips.
What is it about a watch on a guy that’s so hot?
“Great cupcakes.” He motions to the box in front of us. “See? You should be happy.” A grin curves along his mouth as he swallows his bite.
Oof. He’s even cuter when he smiles.
I sigh, turning away. Why the hell is the universe doing this to me? First, I fail college. Then, my dad forces me to work for him. Now, I’m being reminded of how long it’s been since I’ve had a date.
I mean, it’s not like I don’t try. I’ve done the dating apps, gone to bars, the usual stuff; met cute guys and kissed them and put out when expected, but so few of them held my interest. They were either so boring I kept zoning out during our conversations, or so vanilla in bed I had to fake my orgasms. I can’t explain why, but I’ve learned I need a certain level of intensity in bed, and most guys aren’t up to the task.
If I ever did find a guy I actually liked, I’d invariably do something to put them off.
I’d be too emotional—too much—and they’d run.
There are only so many times a girl can go through that before she realizes she’s the problem.
“These are so good,” he says, and I glance back. When I look closer, I notice threads of silver in both his hair and beard, confirming my suspicion that he’s older—I’d guess around forty-three, maybe forty-four. There’s something inexplicably sexy about that.
“Yeah,” I agree. “They’re from a place uptown, near Columbia University.”
He snorts. “That’s miles away.”
I shrug. “I’m a student there.” I realize too late I’ve said it in the present tense, but when his brows rise in what appears to be admiration, I decide to leave it.
As stupid as it is, he’s a total fox and obviously successful, if the suit and fancy watch are anything to go by.
I can’t bring myself to tell him I flunked out.
“What are you studying?” he asks, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. The interested sparkle in his eye makes me glance away in shame, because I’m not studying anything, am I? I’m not doing anything with my life.
I examine the frosting on the half-eaten cupcake, as if I can find the answers there. The stranger twists in his seat to look at me more carefully, his brow pinching in concern.
“Seriously,” he murmurs, setting his beer down. “Are you okay?”
I inhale deeply, contemplating his words. Am I okay? No. Will I be okay?
Also no.
I glance at him, taking a swig from my gin and tonic, unable to stop the words from spilling from my mouth. “Have you ever worked really hard on something for ages, but it still doesn’t turn out the way you want?”
He gazes at me for a long moment. “Yes, actually.”
My lips part in surprise. His brow furrows pensively, and for a second I feel a flash of kinship, a connection with him. Another human being who’s also struggled to make things happen.
“Well…” I breathe out. “Today is one of those days.”
He nods, his eyes softening with compassion. Tiny creases fan out around them as he gazes at me, a feature I never knew I could find attractive. I’m beginning to wonder if there is a single thing about this man I wouldn’t find attractive.
“I’ve been there,” he says gently. “It will get better, I promise.”
I say nothing. How can it get any better? I’ve sunk two and a half years into a qualification I can’t finish, and I’m trapped under my father’s thumb for the foreseeable future.
He sighs beside me, glancing at his watch. “I don’t have to be back at the office for a while. If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.” His gaze strays back to the box of cupcakes. “Especially if my mouth is full.”
Despite myself, a laugh slips out of me. “Thanks,” I say, pushing the cupcake box closer. His eyes light as he selects a chocolate one with mint frosting and takes a bite.
“So.” He swallows, reaching for his beer to take a sip. “Spill.”
I exhale slowly, fiddling with the straw in my drink.
“It’s just… I’ve made some stupid mistakes,” I say vaguely.
“And I’ve kind of… lost control of my life.
” I think I’m done, but the next words rush from me without permission.
“It feels like everyone around me knows something I don’t, like I’m the only one who wasn’t told the secret to life.
Everyone manages things so effortlessly, but for me…
” I shake my head, trying to put the feelings into words.
“For me it’s like, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get anything right.
Like I’m missing some huge piece of the puzzle.
” I glance at him, huffing an embarrassed laugh as I add, “If that makes any sense at all.”
He nods, gaze distant as if thinking of someone he knows. “It does. But…” His eyes come back to mine, and he cocks his head, assessing me. “You’re… what, early thirties?”
I hesitate, then nod. I’m only twenty-six, but he doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know I’ve screwed up my life before it’s even begun.
“You’ve got plenty of time to figure things out,” he says reassuringly. “Until then, you just have to pretend you know what you’re doing.”